


All the Better to Love You With

by dogpoet



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Cake, Established Relationship, Hathaway's brain, M/M, Octopi & Squid, Plushophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Lewis’s birthday, and he’s not happy about it. Hathaway tries a number of things to fix the problem, but it’s Lewis who comes up with the best solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Better to Love You With

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [from](http://archiveofourown.org/users/from) and [serenbach](http://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach).
> 
> A/N: This isn’t officially in The Punctuation Series, but I wrote it in that universe. No need to read the other stories for this to make sense, but I do refer to some backstory from the series.

Lewis was in a strop. There was no other word for it. He’d been downright unpleasant all day until, finally, Hathaway had politely suggested he leave work early.

Outside the scarred doors of the station, it was pouring down. Lewis stood inside for a minute, gathering himself to run out to the car. Hell. In his mind’s eye, he could see his umbrella hanging helpfully on one of the coat hooks in his flat. And of course he and James had taken to driving to work separately to prevent anyone thinking there might be something going on. The decision had made sense at the time, but now it annoyed Lewis. At least on his bloody birthday, it would be nice to have James run out in the rain to fetch the car and bring it round to the door. James would probably do it if Lewis went back to the office to ask.

Instead, he shoved the door with far more force than necessary, and ploughed into the soup.

*

The flat was dark and quiet, reminding Lewis of the days before Hathaway had come to live with him. Evil days, some of them. He flipped on the light, and there was their grey cat, Emmy, curled up on the sofa, looking dry and warm. She yawned, stretching one of her front paws out.

“Lucky sod,” Lewis said, shutting the door. 

He shrugged out of his jacket and took off his shoes. He set the damp post on the table, catching sight of torn wrapping, discarded ribbon, and the CDs James had given him that morning: a collection of newly released Midnight Addiction outtakes from their early days. The gift had only served to remind Lewis that he was getting old.

James had informed Lewis that he would also be cooking dinner and cake for him when they got home. 

Lewis’s trousers and collar were damp. He felt cold and miserable. Out of habit, he went to the fridge for a beer. They were out of Newcastle, and there was only bitter. It would have to do. Lewis opened the bottle, then sat on the sofa with Emmy while he drank it. He idly flipped through channels on the telly, but nothing caught his eye. The news was reporting on the trial of a man he and Hathaway had arrested in the previous year. Work. Lewis didn’t want to think about it. He switched off the telly.

He’d never given much thought to birthdays. They came and went, and as he got older, he did sometimes think they weren’t much cause for celebration. But now there was more to it, wasn’t there? When you suddenly had a reason you wanted to be around for a long time, it was no fun being reminded that you were closer than ever to the end. He wanted to be around for his kids and Matthew and any other grandkids who came along, but they’d be fine without him. James, he wasn’t so certain about.

Lewis’s dad had died at 63. Heart attack. You could go at any time. What if he died at 63, too? That was only four years away. He tried to imagine what James would do. How he’d get on. The lad had dealt with enough in his 33 years. The truth of it was, Lewis felt he was ruining James’s life.

When he’d finished the dregs of the bitter, he lay back on the sofa. Emmy, ever the opportunist, climbed up onto his chest and spread out there. Lewis scratched her chin and stroked her back.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he heard the turn of the lock, the door opening and shutting, Emmy’s purr. She had only to see or hear James, and she started up. 

“Hi,” Lewis said without looking over.

“Were you asleep?” Keys dropped noisily into the basket by the door. Shoes thudded on the floor.

“Must have been. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

James appeared, looming in Lewis’s field of vision. He bent to give Lewis a kiss. “I’ll start dinner in a minute. Are you hungry?”

Emmy jumped down to rub against James’s legs. Lewis watched James unbutton his left sleeve and cuff it neatly three times. Lewis didn’t want birthday dinner. He didn’t want cake. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to go to bed and have the day be over. 

“I think I’ll take a shower,” he said, trying to sit up. 

“All right.” James was watching him as though treading on eggshells.

“I’m fine,” Lewis said, sounding like he wasn’t fine at all. His back ached. He lumbered to his feet, then walked heavily to the bathroom. 

Lewis shut the bathroom door loudly. He ran the water to get it hot, then discarded his trousers, shirt, tie, boxers, and socks on the bathroom floor before stepping under the spray.

Birthdays. Lewis stared at his round belly. It had shrunk a bit since James had got the thumbscrews out and made him go jogging, but it was still there. Genetics, wasn’t it? His dad had been built the same. Lewis had had a bit of belly for as long as he could remember. James said he liked it, and there was no talking sense to him. Lewis looked for a moment longer. His dad’s belly. His dad’s genes. But he was healthier than his dad had been, wasn’t he? 

That Beatles song popped into his head. _Will you still need me, will you still feed me…_ Sixty-four wasn’t far off. And what about after that? James taking care of him when he should be out doing other things. He’d worried about it from the start, but James had a way of making him forget the 25 years between them. 

Lewis stayed in the shower until the water began to cool. Then he reluctantly turned off the tap and got out. As he dried himself, he could hear James in the kitchen banging about, opening and closing drawers and cabinets. Then there was a moment of silence. Footsteps. James approaching the bathroom door. Quiet again. A soft knock.

“Yeah,” Lewis answered.

The door opened, and James poked his head in. The shower hadn’t improved Lewis’s mood, but it had relaxed his muscles and warmed him up after his run through the rain and falling asleep in damp trousers. He wrapped the towel round his waist, and then he was being surrounded, enclosed in James’s arms. Automatically, Lewis returned the gesture, and they stood that way for a moment before James pulled back, kissing Lewis’s cheek and then his mouth. Their tongues collided, and James bit at Lewis’s lower lip. Lewis had noticed that, whenever they had spats, this was James’s strategy: to kiss Lewis until they made up. There was a scientific reason behind it. Something to do with hormones, James had told him. 

After a minute, James pulled back and slid to his knees, his arms circling Lewis’s legs. He pressed his cheek to the bit of Lewis’s belly that wasn’t covered up, kissed his navel and the dark hairs feathering over skin. He nosed at Lewis’s cock through the towel. Lewis felt the familiar tingle of want and desire, and he laid a hand on James’s golden head.

James gazed up, and it made Lewis ache to look at him.

“I’ve been in a mood,” Lewis said. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re allowed to have a bad day.”

They looked at each other without speaking. Lewis could hear the steady sound of the rain outside, the drip of the shower, which needed to be fixed.

James leant his head on Lewis’s belly again. “I got something else for you, to cheer you up.”

“You already cheered me up.”

James scrambled to his feet, planted a kiss on Lewis’s lips, then exited the bathroom. Lewis shook his head. Daft bugger. He draped the bath mat over the edge of the tub, picked up his dirty clothes, then went to find something to wear.

When Lewis got to the bedroom, he found James pawing through their very crowded wardrobe. It was high time they found a bigger flat, but a bigger flat meant more money. They both knew that would mean letting James’s flat go, and that would mean they’d both have the same address. They worked with a bunch of coppers. It would take all of a day for someone to notice he and James were living together. And that would be the end of them. Frankly, Lewis was surprised they hadn’t been found out already.

James brought a box out from under God knew how many coats and shoes and whatnot, set it on the bed, and opened it up. Inside was something purple and satiny. James lifted the purple thing out of the box and pulled it over his head. 

No, it couldn’t be. 

Blimey. It was. An octopus costume. A purple octopus costume. The tentacles hung at James’s front, sides, and back, purple satin on top and white fleece with purple dots on the underside. There was a hood, like on a hoodie, meant to be the octopus’s head. It had some sort of padding so that it looked as though James’s head extended back a bit.

“Do you like it?” James pulled the hood over his head.

“I think you’re barmy.”

“But a charming sort of barmy,” James said, coming close to Lewis and wrapping his arms round him. “It has these.” He reached for the set of tentacles closest to his arms and fastened them around Lewis’s waist. “They have snaps. So I can hug you with four arms.” He leant on Lewis, moving him towards the bed.

“Tentacles, you mean.”

“Arms. Squid have tentacles, octopuses have only arms.”

“You’ve been reading again.”

James laughed and clumsily lowered both of them onto the bed. There were limbs everywhere. Arms. Legs. The towel round Lewis’s waist had come undone. They rearranged themselves until they were comfortable. It was hard to be in a bad mood when your partner was dressed as a purple octopus. Lewis hugged James back, squeezing his bum, liking his sprawling weight.

“What brought this on?”

“I bought it online. I couldn’t resist. It’s very soft.” To demonstrate his point, James freed one of his arms from behind Lewis’s neck and gently stroked his cheek with first the satiny side and then the fuzzy side of one of the tentacles. Arms, rather.

“Sometimes I don’t know what to make of you,” Lewis said.

“I made you smile.” 

Lewis turned his head slightly to kiss the octopus arm that was stroking his face. James leant closer and caught Lewis’s mouth with his. Lips, tongue, teeth, they kissed, and Lewis lost track of time. They didn’t break apart until James tickled the roof of Lewis’s mouth with his tongue, and Lewis laughed.

“Your tongue is like a ninth tentacle. Arm, I mean.”

“I ought to get back to the kitchen before Em Dash learns to take the lids off saucepans.”

“I’ll help you,” Lewis grunted, rolling them over.

“Never!” James unsnapped the arms that were fastened round Lewis and got up energetically. He began taking off the octopus costume.

“I like you in that thing.”

“You don’t think I’m a nutter?”

“I do.”

James huffed, putting the costume back in its box. Lewis watched him leave the room. He was suddenly cold without James lying on top of him. His towel had come all the way off. He felt lazily aroused, like he wanted to climb in bed with James and kiss him for a long time, rub against him, hold him until they both came. Lewis opened the box that was lying at the foot of the bed. He fingered the different textures of one of the arms. It was definitely daft, but it suited James to a T. 

*

A few minutes later, dressed in jeans, a clean t-shirt, and a moth-eaten jumper, Lewis wandered into the kitchen. “What are we having?” he asked, coming to peer over James’s shoulder as he sautéed something leafy and green with lentils. James had been busy the night before, too, preparing things ahead of time.

“Lentils with cavolo nero. And there’s wine-glazed chicken simmering, too. Chocolate cake for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious.” With their work schedule, some takeaway couldn’t be helped, but when they were at home, James had been experimenting with recipes from an Italian cookbook. Better for both of them, he said. 

Lewis pressed kisses to the fine blond hairs at James’s nape, unable to express how he felt. It was nice, this, being thought of, having someone do things because they cared for you. James turned awkwardly and gave Lewis a kiss before tending to the lentils again.

“Lyn rang while you were in the shower. She’s home now if you want to call her.”

Lewis went to get his phone from the pocket of his damp coat. It was funny how life turned out. What would his old Tyneside mates say if they could see him now? Back then they’d been a pack of hounds, eager to find pretty girls who’d have them. They’d spent many an hour down the pub, chatting up anyone they could. They’d been more polite than most, but they’d done their fair share of discussing this girl’s tits or that one’s legs, downing pints like they were going out of fashion.

He’d lost touch with them over the years.

Settling himself on the sofa, Lewis rang Lyn.

“Dad!” she shouted. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Pet. I got the cookbook in the post yesterday. Looks tasty.” _500 Quick, Healthy Recipes_ , or something like that. Lyn trying to improve his diet.

“Liar.” Lyn laughed.

“I’m sure James will make me cook something out of it. How are things?”

“Wait. Hold on. Matthew has something to say to you.” There was the sound of movement and Lyn talking to Matthew. “Come on. Say hi to Granddad. It’s his birthday.”

“Gah,” came through along with the sound of Lyn’s laughter.

Lewis smiled, wishing he could go up to see Lyn more. 

“I’ll have him talking yet,” Lyn said. “Did you hear from Tom?”

Tom. Off in the wilds of Australia. “I got an email from him a few days ago, yeah. He was headed out on a camping trip.”

“Have you told him about James yet?”

Lewis glanced towards the kitchen. James was looking at him, as though he knew he was the subject of discussion. “I tried when I talked to him at Christmas.”

“Dad! You’re the worst! It’s been almost a year! Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him?”

“You don’t chat with him much either,” Lewis countered.

“I know.”

They were silent. Then Lyn said, “I hear you’ve got a feast for dinner.”

“Yeah. He takes good care of me.” He looked towards the kitchen again, watching James poke at something in the saucepan. He was wearing a blue apron. 

“I wish you’d both visit soon. Matthew’s grown so much since Christmas.”

Crikey. It was only February. Bairns grew fast, though, didn’t they? “We’ll come up at Easter, I think. As long as no one goes on a murderous rampage.”

“The way you go on, I feel lucky to live in Manchester! We’re more civilised up here.”

“It’s these academics, you know,” Lewis said, eyeing Hathaway.

Lyn made a noise of effort. “Matthew’s getting heavy! It’s like being at the gym all day.”

“Use the pram. Don’t hurt your back,” Lewis advised. If he judged correctly, Lyn was rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. 

“I won’t. I’d better go. I just wanted to say hi.”

“All right. Talk to you soon, Love.”

“Okay. Bye! Love you.”

They rang off. Lewis contemplated the phone for a few seconds. His Lyn. They’d probably drive each other mad if they were together every day, but two or three weeks a year was worse. You never got time back once it had passed. 

Lewis got up, suddenly weary again. He went to stand beside James, rubbing his back. “You chatted with Lyn?”

“She’s begun including me when she sends you pictures.”

“Has she? I didn’t notice.” That was good of her. Lewis had worried for a time that Lyn wouldn’t fully accept James. It had been a rocky start, but she was a good lass, and she wanted him to be happy. She was right: he was going to have to tell Tom. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t matter to him — he’d gone his own way, and he rarely came home anymore. At least he seemed settled with that Australian girl, Kate, and her family was there. He wasn’t alone.

Without being asked, Lewis opened the cupboards and got the dinner plates out. He set the table and, over James’s objections, began loading the dishwasher with the mess James had created while cooking. 

“Are you going to play the new music?” James asked.

“You hate it.”

James made a face that said: Yes, I do. But he said, “It’s your birthday. Take advantage of my goodwill. On my birthday, you can listen to Gregorian chants.”

“That’s coming up, isn’t it? In May. I think I’ll get you a Zimmer frame. You’ll be downright ancient.” Lewis went to get the CDs and wrapping paper from the table. 

“I’ve always been ancient,” James said.

“Must be why I like you.” Lewis binned the paper and ribbon, then worked at the cellophane enclosing the CD case. “Why do they make these things so bloody hard to open? It’s like pill bottles.”

“Use a paring knife.”

Lewis followed the advice, succeeding in releasing the music from its prison. He placed one of the discs in the player.

“Next birthday, I’m buying you an iPod.”

“No, you’re not,” Lewis said with finality. 

“You wouldn’t have to open CDs anymore.”

When the music came on, Emmy’s eyes opened wide in alarm, and her ears went back. 

“Come look at Emmy,” Lewis said.

James strode over to the sofa, a wooden spoon in his hand. “She’s discerning. She prefers classical guitar.”

A few songs later, dinner was ready, and they sat to eat. Lewis thought Lyn would have approved of the meal, and it was delicious. But James could have served Lewis a ready meal, and he would have been happy. Things tasted better when you had someone to eat them with.

Lewis felt bad for his earlier grumpiness. James had so easily forgiven him, and now he was sitting, touching distance away, putting a piece of leafy green into his mouth, his cheeks slightly pink from working in the warm kitchen. He’d forgotten to take the apron off. His sleeves were still rolled up. His tie was gone, and the first few buttons of his lavender shirt were undone, revealing pale skin.

When they’d eaten the last of what was on their plates, James asked, “Seconds?”

“Nah.” Lewis was still a tiny bit hungry, but he wanted to save room for cake. 

James gave him a knowing look. “Do you want your cake now? Or do you want to wait a bit? It might be too warm still for the icing.”

“Let’s wait,” Lewis said, reaching for James’s hand, pressing his thumb to the palm and rubbing lightly.

James grabbed Lewis’s thumb, stood up, and led him towards the hallway. 

“Is it Emmy-proof?” Lewis asked as they passed the kitchen.

“I expect we’ll at least hear the noise of her removing the saucepan lids. I’ll put the cake in the microwave for safekeeping.” James let go of Lewis and performed the required Emmy-proofing before pulling the apron off over his head.

Even that separation was too long. Lewis folded James into his arms and kissed him. Kept him that way as they stumbled down the hallway. By the time they got to the bed, James was laughing, and he fell, breathless, onto the duvet. 

They lay there for a minute, side by side, hands clasped, until James rolled onto his stomach, draping half his body over Lewis. Lewis rubbed James’s back. He felt relaxed and content. He had James in his arms, and there was going to be cake later. 

James sighed, and Lewis felt the breath on his neck. 

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Lewis said.

James was silent. He nosed at Lewis’s ear, gave the lobe a tiny lick. Lewis made a noise of protest and turned his head, trying to get his ear out of reach.

“Stop worrying about me,” James said, sounding muffled.

“What makes you think I’m worried?”

“You trained me to anticipate your every thought, sir.”

“I’m regretting that now, aren’t I?”

James hummed in agreement.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m ruining your life,” Lewis said, expressing his earlier thought.

James propped himself up on one elbow so Lewis could see his face. “It’s the opposite.” Lewis must have had a sceptical expression on his face because James added, “It is.”

It wasn’t an argument Lewis was likely to win. James could be stubborn when he set his mind to something.

“My octopus,” Lewis said to avoid further discussion. He liked saying it. It was something only they understood.

James sat up suddenly, opened the box near his feet, and put on the costume again.

“Not the hood,” Lewis insisted. “I like seeing your real head.” 

James pushed the hood back, then lay half on top of Lewis again. Lewis scratched lightly at James’s hair. It was soft, like the finest straw imaginable.

“Did you know the real plural of octopus is _octopodes_? It’s from the Greek. We only say ‘octopuses’ or ‘octopi’ because no one but Greek scholars would ever think to make it _octopodes_.”

“Lucky I’ve got myself a Greek scholar, then. Handy on cases, too.”

“They’ve got receptors on their suckers, so they can taste things they’re touching. Like having eight tongues. Or hundreds, rather.”

“Is this your idea of pillow talk? Telling me about octopuses?”

James shifted onto his side, and Lewis moved with him. Their legs tangled together, and they leant forward at the same time. James’s tongue tasted and sought. Lewis had a feeling James was being purposely like an octopus. He groped at James’s shirt, untucking it from his trousers, then slid a hand beneath it, feeling for the line of spine and the faint peach fuzz at the small of his back. James grabbed Lewis’s jumper.

Rolling away, Lewis sat up to pull off his jumper and t-shirt. He stood to unzip his jeans. 

Instead of getting undressed, James was setting the costume box on the floor outside the bedroom, calling to Emmy, who’d just wandered in. “Come on.” James made clicking sounds with his tongue. Emmy leapt into the box. James folded the flaps over her. The last thing Lewis saw before James shut the bedroom door was Emmy poking her head out of the flaps, getting ready to jump. She could play with a box for hours.

“It’s not as bad as having kids,” Lewis said.

James came to stand in front of Lewis, who had discarded his jeans and boxers and socks. Lewis slid his hands under the purple arms to unbutton James’s shirt. While Lewis worked, James trailed the tip of one of the octopus arms along Lewis’s shoulder, his bicep, back up again to his neck. The touch was light as a feather, and it sent a shiver through him. With clumsy fingers, he unbuckled James’s belt, fumbled with the clasp at the top of the zip, and pulled the zip down to reveal light blue boxers. Lewis placed his hand between trousers and boxers, rubbing his palm against James’s still soft cock. James pushed into his hand.

Without clothes, Lewis felt suddenly cold. “Help me get all these things off you so we can get under. It’s cold.”

James pulled at his shirt, while Lewis worked the trousers and boxers down. James stepped out of them, lifting first one foot and then the other, removing his socks at the same time as everything else.

“Are you leaving that thing on?” Lewis asked, climbing under the covers.

James joined him. “Have you ever had rumpy-pumpy with someone wearing an octopus costume?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should expand your horizons lest you get set in your ways,” James said, lecturing.

“I was thinking more like…” Lewis ferreted about in his mind for something that would appeal to James. “Going to Vienna.”

James rolled Lewis onto his back and climbed on top of him. “We can do that, too.”

The sensation of cool satin against his bare chest was startling. Lewis’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t speak. James shifted his body, creating friction. Lewis felt like all of the short hairs on his chest were standing on end, and his nipples, which weren’t usually sensitive, ached for more touch. 

“You like it,” James observed in a satisfied way. 

Blood rushed to Lewis’s face. He looked away. “It feels nice. But it’s not exactly something you’d buy at Guilty Secrets, is it?”

James bit his lip, trying not to laugh, then bent to kiss Lewis, continuing his movements, teasing and slow. Lewis was pleasantly aroused, not desperate for quick release but enjoying all the ways James was touching him. Their half-erect cocks bumped into one another, rubbed a bit. Lewis lifted his hips. His hands reached for James’s bum.

“Did you know,” James said between kisses, “the male octopus’s sperm come out of one of his arms?”

Honestly. It was like being in bed with an encyclopaedia. A gangly one. “But the arm isn’t — well, it’s not like a willy, is it?”

This time, James did laugh. “I have no idea where the _willy_ is, but I think it’s somewhere else.”

“Don’t go grabbing your phone to check.”

James got up on his hands and knees, moving down Lewis’s body. Lewis knew what was coming, and he closed his eyes. But the the touch of James’s lips and tongue didn’t come. Instead, one of the octopus arms began stroking Lewis’s cock, satin side, then fleece side. It was electric, unexpected and forbidden, a completely improper use of an octopus costume. When Lewis opened his eyes to look, James was watching him.

“You’re mad,” Lewis said.

“Does it feel good?”

“You could say that.”

James shifted his attention to Lewis’s thighs, trailing the tip of one of the octopus arms along the sensitive part near the groin. It was ticklish and erotic and the same time, like nothing Lewis had ever felt before. The slow burn was gone, replaced by pure need. He grabbed hold of his own cock, but before he could do anything, James firmly moved his hand out of the way and took over. He focussed his attention on the head, licking and sucking, letting his fingers trail down the shaft. Lewis closed his eyes in pleasure. 

The unexpectedness of the satin touching him reminded Lewis of the first time he’d gone to bed with James, how James had surprised him by doing just this. This simple act, once strange but now familiar, as James himself had been when they’d first met. Beyond the physical, Lewis loved how connected they felt when they were like this, James pouring into him through fingers and tongue, giving him reassurance and affection and passion. It was like a gift each time: this, this, this. His heart leaping with joy. This. This. This. The pressure of James’s thumb. His tongue. Heel of hand to balls. Lewis felt a familiar pull inside him, an ache, his breath gone out of his lungs. He was trying to get more air. And then he came, and his vision, when he finally opened his eyes, was starry.

He breathed again. He swallowed. James was kissing him, and he was kissing back, turning over onto his side. James rolled onto his back, his expression open and relaxed with arousal. Lewis loved looking at him like this, when he was nothing at all like the formal, academic sergeant who was at work every day. He looked a bit silly with his octopus arms askew, but he was still lovely, flushed and breathless. 

Lewis reached for James’s cock, and James pushed feverishly into his hand. Lewis worked his way down James’s body so he could kiss and lick the leaking tip. He tasted, thinking of octopuses tasting things every time they felt them. It was such an intimate thing, wasn’t it? Giving so many of your senses to someone. He’d touched every part of James, and he’d tasted. He hadn’t loved every taste, except that it was a part of James.

Distractedly, James trailed one of the octopus arms over his stomach and chest. Lewis filed that away for future — he’d already noticed James liked to have his back stroked, sometimes even the soft skin on the inner part of his arms or the backs of his knees — as he took all of James’s cock into his mouth. He grasped the base of the shaft, moving his hand in time, listening as James’s breath came faster, as he made soft sounds, indicating he was close to coming. Lewis switched to just his hand when he thought James was almost there. And then he was, his come spilling over Lewis’s fist. 

Lewis clambered up and lay next to James for a minute, pulling the duvet over them. He yawned. He was going to fall asleep if he didn’t get up. He turned onto his side so he could lean over James and give him a kiss. James’s hair was a mess, and he looked befuddled. He blinked at Lewis, then smiled, turning away.

“You’re embarrassed now? A bit late for that.”

“I’m not.” But he was blushing.

“I can’t believe I just made love to an octopus.”

“Nothing feels weird when I do it with you,” James said seriously.

Lewis laid his head on James’s shoulder. “It was weird for me at first. But I got over it.”

“You’d do anything for me,” James mumbled.

“I would.”

“I’m going to get up and fix your cake.”

“Mm. I’ll come help.”

They didn’t move.

Finally, James said, “I’m doing it.” He sat up with a grunt. 

“All right.” Lewis sat up, too, lifting the covers out of the way, swinging his legs to the edge of the bed. 

Lewis picked up his boxers and pulled them on. When he stood up, James was beside him, naked except for his octopus arms. He leant into Lewis, wrapping two sets of arms round him. There was a little click as the octopus arms snapped together. Lewis hugged back. 

James laid his head on Lewis’s shoulder, face turned away. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough arms to show you how much I love you.”

“My octopus,” Lewis murmured, stroking James’s back. He understood. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t have enough years to show James how much he loved him. If there were a costume that could give him more, he’d gladly have bought it.

James began to walk Lewis backward towards the bedroom door. 

“We’re not going out there naked,” Lewis said.

“We’re not naked.”

Lewis gave James’s bum a light smack. “Clothes, you. I know you want a cigarette, and it’s freezing outside.”

*

While James iced the cake, Lewis cleaned up the dinner dishes. James didn’t complain, and Lewis suspected he was secretly glad not to have to clean. They were quiet while they worked. An idea had occurred to Lewis, and he mulled it over as he packed everything into the dishwasher and poured the powder into its compartment. He’d only had twenty-five years with Val, but her loss had come out of nowhere. This loss, he knew would come. It might come sooner, or it might come later. There was no way of knowing. There was only so much time he could buy by exercising and eating better, but there was a way he could make each day go farther. All he had to do was say the word.

“It’s ready,” James said. He carried the cake to the table. 

Lewis got two clean plates and forks. James returned to the kitchen for a knife. When Lewis got to the table, there were pink and white striped candles in a little box with James’s lighter beside them. Last birthday, he and James had had a pint after work. This was much nicer.

James cut the cake, put a slice on Lewis’s plate, opened the box of candles, and planted a single one in the centre of the slice. He lit the candle. “Happy birthday.” He leant to kiss Lewis, then he sat down to serve himself a slice of cake.

Lewis blew out the candle. He had never wished for a long life before, not explicitly. In fact, he hadn’t wished on birthday candles since he was a kid. In some ways, James made him feel young again. Hopeful. Playful, even. 

“I think I’ll take early retirement,” Lewis announced.

James put his fork down. “What?”

“I know there’s not long to go, even without it, but every day is a day of me life.”

James stared at him. “I —” He frowned down at his cake. “If you go, I go.”

“What? No.” This problem hadn’t presented itself when he’d made his big decision ten minutes before. He’d known, but he’d temporarily forgotten in the excitement of his revelation. “What will you do?”

“No idea,” James said happily. “I don’t care.”

“You should care. Your brain’s too good to waste on — I don’t know.”

“Something that doesn’t involve long hours or night-time callouts. So I can sleep with you.”

That was the main reason for early retirement: sleeping nights, slowing down, spending time with the people he loved. But James would be at work all day, and Lewis would not. The only people Lewis knew who didn’t work were stay-at-home mums or people with more money than they knew what to do with. Lewis wasn’t going to play golf or ride horses, was he? And he couldn’t visit Lyn and Matthew every day.

“Blimey. It’s not just you, is it? What am I going to do with meself?” This was another matter Lewis hadn’t quite thought out.

“Allotment,” James said, stuffing a piece of cake into his mouth, nodding as if he had all the answers. “Weeding. Learning to cook more veg.”

“I never thought an octopus would give me advice about life.” Lewis tasted the cake. It was delicious. It melted on his tongue.

“They’re infinitely wise. Clever, too.” There were crumbs of chocolate cake at the corner of James’s mouth. He licked them off. “And dexterous.”

“I always thought they were quiet animals, but it looks like I was wrong,” Lewis said, and James laughed.

 

_the end_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hathaway’s costume is an amalgamation of two octopus costumes I found online, neither of which has _snaps_ on the ends of the arms. I made that up (creative licence!) because I wanted Hathaway to hug Lewis with more arms.


End file.
